


How Clint Stole Christmas

by FlatlandDan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlatlandDan/pseuds/FlatlandDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was early Christmas morning in the mansion and Clint Barton was on a mission.  He walked barefoot into the kitchen and opened the packed fridge, carefully making his decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Clint Stole Christmas

****It was early Christmas morning in the mansion and Clint Barton was on a mission.  He walked barefoot into the kitchen and opened the packed fridge, carefully making his decisions.

“May I assist you in finding a particular item, Master Barton?” JARVIS queried.

“Just trying to see what I can grab that no one will miss.” Clint had stopped lying to the AI months ago.  There was no point in it and, yeah, JARVIS might be able to help with this one.

“Are we going for a light snack or something more substantial?”

“I’m not leaving my room for 48 hours after this.”

“Might I suggest the pate?”  Which is how Clint ended up grabbing one of the grocery bags and playing Jenga with the contents of the fridge.  He did grab the pate, some cheese, jars of olives and those little pickles he loved, a loaf of bread, a bag of Christmas oranges and a Terry’s chocolate orange.  Plus a bottle of dark rum.  He neatly rearranged the fridge, covering his tracks, and then padded back upstairs to his room.  He didn’t have a fridge, but the windowsill was cold enough and he didn’t think anything would go off.

Clint was fairly sure he was born a loner. When he thought back to his early childhood the happiest moment he could remember was being four and lying on the ground watching the ants move impossibly large bits of leaves, a glass of lemonade next to him.  He remembered playing with his brother and mother, but no one else.  In the orphanage he had hid as well as he could.  In that miserable place the best thing you could do was hope that everyone forgot you existed. The circus had been full of dysfunctional social rejects who had viewed him as first another mouth to feed and then competition.

It wasn’t that he disliked the rest of the Avengers, it was just that he had no idea how to relate to them on his good days.  Christmas was never a good day for him, always one where he felt awkward because he didn’t have any traditions associated with it.  He had spent most of them, willingly, alone.  The best present he could give was to not inflict himself on anyone.

The polite knock came two hours after the first ignored text message.  _That’ll be Steve_ , he thought to himself.

“Fuck off, I’m sleeping!” he yelled back, a blatant lie.  He was under his blanket, waiting for Die Hard to finish downloading and wishing he had grabbed more rum.  The floorboards outside his room creaked a little and he geared himself for a verbal pitch battle over “team bonding” (words almost as dirty as “recovery period”). A reply never came, but five minutes later there was a more aggressive pounding.  _That’ll be Tony._

“Still sleeping!”

“Fuck you Clint, you aren’t making Captain Christmas upset today. I’m cutting off your internet unless you come out!”

“Rich words coming from you Stark, you piss him off every day.”

“ I may piss him off, but I don’t _wreck Christmas.”_ That almost got Clint out of bed.  Almost got him to fling open the door and start a domestic with Tony.  Instead he tried to channel is inner Bruce and meditate a little.  It was harder to do with Tony screaming and beating on his door, memories of faint childhood Christmas spent listening to screaming and beatings of a different kind seeping in, but he managed and eventually he heard another set of footsteps come to his door, a whispered conversation, and he was alone. He looked at his iPad and saw that yes, his wireless was gone and it was going to take four and a half hours to get the film on 3G.  He moved all the food onto his bedside table, nibbled on a bit of the cheese, and waited.  At least that was something he was good at, besides wrecking Christmas.

He was sleeping off the first half of the bottle of rum when he heard his door being jimmied open.  Natasha slipping into his room without a word and he was briefly grateful for the courtesy she’d given him of making a little noise before coming in.  As she crawled into his bed, he noticed she was wearing slippers and matching pajamas far more conservative than he thought she’d owned.

“Captain Christmas bought some for everyone” she said, answered his unspoken question as she curled an arm over his shoulder. “I think yours have Robin Hood on them.”  He snorted in reply and she sighed.  Anyone else and he would have kicked them out. But Tasha was…Tasha. If anyone could break into his room for a cuddle-and-nothing-else-Clint on Christmas it was her.

“Have I wrecked Christmas?” he asked softly.  She squeezed his shoulder.

“Not quite.  I left them bonding over how much of a dick you are. Apparently that’s practically a Christmas tradition in most families.”

“I don’t have any Christmas traditions”

“Besides getting drunk on your own and watching Die Hard.”

“That’s not a tradition”

“I’ve known you for six years Clint, and you’ve done it every damn year.” And god, he had.  Now that he thought about it, every Christmas since he’d worked for SHIELD he found himself a bottle of rum and Die Hard.

“What about Ecuador?”

“You had it on your Ipod and, while it wasn’t rum, it was something dark and alcoholic and you were sick for an hour in the bathroom.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m not surprised.” He reached up and rubbed her hand, the only apology he could really muster. “You have presents, you know.” He sighed again.

“If I get up, will everyone make a big deal out of it?” He felt her smile into the back of his neck.

“Give it half an hour and they’ll be cooking.  You can just magically turn up on the couch.”  He gave her hand a final squeeze. 

“Thanks.”

“I just thought, it might be good for you to have a new tradition.  No man is an island, Clint.”

 

It works, kinda.  She slips out twenty minutes later and he throws on something warmer than boxer shorts and a tshirt and follows the sound of mess being made in the kitchen.  The living room is covered in wrapping paper and he tries not to cringe at the four presents and, Jesus, it that a stocking with his name on it? He clears a space on the couch and dumps the contents onto the table.  It’s all crap, but such thoughtful crap that even he’s smiling.  The arrow erasers, malaria tablets, pack of beef jerky and, in the toe, a shot glass made out of a large caliber shell casing.

“So, the Grinch got up after all.” He looks up to see Bruce settle across from him on the overstuffed chair, two glasses of eggnog is his hand. “Sorry there’s no rum in it, some dickhead grabbed the extra bottle.”  Clint almost feels guilty but Bruce is smiling at him and, yeah, he’s been a bit of a Grinch this year but he knows the film.

“I think if I go to the top of Mt. Crumpet I might be able to find a bottle.” Bruce actually laughs at that one so Clint it bounding up the stairs and in his closet, grabbing the bottle that was his SHIELD birthday present last year. He walks in to find everyone there and while he’s not surprised at Tony’s glare, Steve looks happy, Thor looks drunk and Tasha is lifts her legs so he can sit on the couch again.  “Just don’t expect me to blow Who who on a trumpet or carve the roast beast.”

They’d decided against a formal dinner, thankfully, so it’s just them on the couches with food piled on plates and the coffee table.  They put on the original _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ because neither Tony nor Steve have seen it and want to know the references.  Then it’s _Bad Santa, It’s a Wonderful Life_ (Clint admits to being a slight food coma for most of this, but he swears he’s awake for the good bits), _The Muppet’s Christmas Carol_ and, eventually, Tasha demands _Die Hard._

“I thought you said it was time for me to have new traditions?” he mumbles softly into her hair as she slouches against him.  He’s wearing the Robin Hood PJ’s and there is a book on samurai (how did Bruce know?), some purple socks and cuddly Ebola virus toy on the table next to him.  He’s pleasantly drunk, couldn’t touch another piece of food unless it was wrapped in bacon and no one seems to hate him.  She snuggles closer to him, forcing him to shift until she’s comfortable.

“Yeah, but this is _our_ tradition.” she purrs happily. “It just wouldn’t be Christmas without you, rum and _Die Hard._ ”

 

It’s well after midnight when they all head to bed.  He smiles goodnight to Tasha as she opens the door to her room, suddenly awkward around her.  She just laughs and puts her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the cheeky.

“Merry Christmas, Dickhead.”

“Sleep well, Tasha.” She shakes her head as she pulls away and closes the door behind him, but is still smiling so Clint thinks he got away with it.  He’s back in his own bed, eating the last slice of chocolate orange, when he realizes that he didn’t want to get away with it.  He may be a loner, but it had been years since he’s been really alone. She was his family and the rest of the Avengers seemed pretty hell bent to join it.  He grabs his phone and starts texting.

 _Tony: I’m sorry I was an asshole and nearly wrecked your boyfriends Christmas. Merry Christmas._

 _Steve: I’m sorry I was an asshole and nearly wrecked your Christmas.  I’ll do the dishes.  Merry Christmas._

 _Thor: Don’t forget water. Advil. Merry Christmas._

 _Bruce: I think at least my liver has grown three sizes today.  Merry Christmas to both of you._

He starts sending one to Natasha and then stops, gets out of bed and across to her door before he really realizes what he’s committed to.  He doesn’t even have to knock, she’s opened the door after hearing the floorboards.

“Merry Christmas, Tasha.”

Because yeah, it really was.

 


End file.
